


The road to (recovery) Christmas

by Maria_and_her_books



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Christmas, Depression, I take this show too serious (stares at the gifs of Robbie flinching away from people), M/M, Mistletoe, Personal Growth, Pining, Recovery, Secret Santa, and, sorta - Freeform, welcome to the depression spiral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:48:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21824662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maria_and_her_books/pseuds/Maria_and_her_books
Summary: Someone is leaving gifts for Robbie onthe twelve daysleading up to Christmas. They make him feel... a lot.
Relationships: Robbie Rotten/Sportacus
Comments: 15
Kudos: 135





	The road to (recovery) Christmas

**_On the seventh day of Christmas my true love sent to me:  
Seven Swans a Swimming _**

There's not going to be another package on his doorstep. Well, not next to the hatch to his lair.

He's not going to look if there is.

He is not going to climb all the way up to be disappointed. He is not...

Who is he kidding, he wants to know. Wants to see if by some magic someone has bypassed the security-cameras he had installed the night before. Santa isn't real but someone has been leaving packages for him in the last seven days. Someone who knows him quite well.

Someone who made him snort with laughter when he saw the 7 clippings of articles: the swan-father of Hamburg with his boat full of swans, a story about hungry swans who ring the bell of the Bishop's Palace when they want to be fed...

\----------------  
**_  
On the second day of Christmas my true love sent to me:  
Two Turtle Doves and a Partridge in a Pear Tree _**

One morning he'd come up and there had been two small neatly wrapped parcels waiting for him. A pie with the shape of a bird cut out of the crust. The other package had held Dove chocolate, dark and rich of flavour.  
There hadn't been a note. The snow surrounding his lair was pristine, untouched by footsteps.

It hadn't been a good couple of days for him. He'd been holed up in his lair, tired, cold, miserable, head aching due to the snow in the air, the world grey and bleak.

He'd heated the pie up in the oven, his lair smelling wonderfully comforting when he sat down with a generous slice.  
The pear-filling of the pie had been sweet with a hint of honey, nutmeg and lemon, the crust crisp and flaky.

With a sigh he'd leaned back in his chair, feeling a little better for the first time in days. He eyed the chocolate... There should be milk in the fridge?

After another slice of pie and a mug of hot chocolate he finally had the energy to take a shower and get dressed in fresh pajamas. He was too exhausted after that to wonder who had left the gifts.

\----------------  
**_  
On the third day of Christmas my true love sent to me:  
Three French Hens _**

The next day the warm and fuzzy socks with chickens in striped sweaters and wearing berets on them had made him laugh and then had been blissfully warm for his frozen feet. It was cold in his lair, his joints ached. It always took a while before the heating had warmed up the vast underground space. He'd been cold and grumpy and a achingly lonely. Warm feet were an improvement.

\----------------  
**_  
On the fourth day of Christmas my true love sent to me:  
Four Calling Birds _**

There had been an ominous groaning in the pipes for days now, it did not help with his ever-present headache. The soft pleasant tinkle of the windchimes that arrived next soothed him somewhat. The bronze bird-figurines glinted pleasingly in the low lighting. The pressure in his temples let up a little, he no longer felt like his head was held in a vice.

\----------------  
**_  
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love sent to me:  
Five Golden Rings _**

He'd curled up under his blanket in his chair the day after that and stared at the plate of golden glazed cookies he'd found. They were decorated with delicate purple flowers. They tasted like Christmas, warm spices and honey-sweet comfort.  
He snuggled up with his purple blanket, sock-clad feet tucked under him and watched the windchime sway gentle as he tried to determine the taste of the little violets.  
He wondered if happiness had a flavor.

\----------------  
**_  
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love sent to me:  
Six Geese a Laying _**

It wasn't until the sixth day that Robbie saw a pattern. The pillow with six embroidered geese wearing Christmas hats was what finally clued him in.

The twelve days of Christmas.

He'd missed somehow that it was December but here he was, receiving gifts in the days leading up to Christmas instead of the days after Christmas.

Bewildered he stared at the present. Who on earth could be sending him things that seemed specifically tailored to comfort and sooth him?!

He hadn't been having the best of days, insomnia bringing the familiar depressed feelings in it's wake. A future without hope of relief or respite. Exhaustion sending him spiraling and his thoughts spinning out of control.

He'd tucked the pillow behind his head, breathed in the strangely familiar scent. Somehow it untangled some the chaos of his anxiety and tension, and quieted the storm in his mind somewhat.

He'd woken after the most restful sleep he'd had in ages and well-rested and unusually chipper he'd answered the knock on his hatch.

\----------------

For some reason unbeknownst to himself, he'd let the kid, Stingy, in. The brat had been painfully polite and frighteningly hopeful for his help. So much trust in his capabilities, it was terrifying.

But somehow he'd gotten it right. He'd rewritten the hymn the kid had trust at him as something he would be able to play. A quiet, almost meditative piece.  
The echo of the trumpet magical in the wonderful acoustics of his lair. Otherworldly.

The boy was talented though unsure of his own capabilities. He wanted to do something for someone else, even Robbie knew how rare that was for this kid who was so hauntingly familiar in the way he guarded his possessions. Like it was all he had, a pretense of love in the guise of worldly riches. Love bought through gifts.

It resonated with Robbie, reminded him of things he'd rather forget about his own youth. Things that had made him the man he was today.

In this he could help.

It felt.... nice. Good.

He wished someone had done that for him. Helped. Reached out. Wished he had had someone to call on.

He remembered asking for help and being told to stop being a bother, stop being weak, stop being seen.

This kid had been so very very grateful, awkward with it. Trusted him. Desperately hoped not to be dismissed.  
It made him want the kid to succeed. No one ever asked for his help.

But this boy was going to play that piece perfectly, Robbie was going to make sure of it. He'd made Stingy play it over and over until he saw confidence in the boy's stance, saw the enjoyment in a seemingly impossible goal achieved.

He'd made him hot chocolate and they'd quietly sat together as they'd listened to the recording Robbie had made of the kid playing.

The smile alone had been worth it. Joy and disbelief and gratefulness.

They boy's thanks had been formal, rehearsed, but the warmth was genuine, the smile reached his eyes and had made Robbie bluster a bit.

Still baffled by this unexpected development he'd closed the hatch after the kid.

And then he'd sat, listened to the recording one more time. The piece was full of hope, of joy.

It had made him think about Sportacus, about the Elf's guidance for these children.

He thought he got it, it felt glorious, shaping them to be the best version of themselves. He thought he understood why the Elf had stayed.

\----------------  
**_  
On the eighth day of Christmas my true love sent to me:  
Eight Maids a Milking _**

He'd eyed the bottle with severe distrust until he saw the note proclaiming it to be a 'milkbath'.

The smell had been comforting reinvigorating. He'd watched the flowers float on the milky water. It had relaxed him, the last of the tension leaving his body. His soundsystem had been quiet, picking up no sound from the usually noisy town above.

There had been calmth in his head and he'd sang for the first time in days. It had felt good, being able to breath, to be.

He'd toweled off, painted his nails mulberry purple, had done his make-up and hair and dressed.

He'd had had energy to face the day, to brave the outdoors. So he'd bundled up and gone out, the chill in the air making him feel alive. Cold but alive.

The children had been sledding up at the hill a while away from town. It had been quiet down in his lair come to think of it.

Sportacus was making sure none of the kids was veering off track and crashing into a tree or worse. He'd noticed Robbie carefully trudging through the snow and had waved and smiled his warm smile, crinkles around his blue eyes and all.

Robbie had sat down on a bench nearby, had watched the children's fearless manouevres and their cheers and laughter at the rush and thrills of a speedy descent. They knew there was no danger here. Not with Sportacus watching over them. Not with him caring, keeping them safe.

Robbie found himself watching the Elf, the flex of his thighs as flipped and jumped. His wide smile and kind eyes and the interesting curl of strong muscles of his biceps, the firmness of his...

"Hi Robbie!"

He jumped as the red-headed kid sat down next to him. Focused on Sportacus as he'd been he hadn't seen the teen approach.

"Pixel", he was too flustered to even feign ignorance of the whizkid's name.

The boy didn't seem to notice, immersed already in the data shown on his wristcomputer. Robbie went back to watching the antics on the hill, though making sure to focus on less... distracting aspects of it.

"Robbie?" it sounded tentative and Robbie found the kid almost nervous next to him.

\----------------

It had started with the rendering of a model Pixel had asked his opinion about. They'd talked materials and costs and construction.

Somehow their conversation had wandered away from their initial topic and Pixel had been talking about the thing that had really been bothering him; his social anxiety and the upcoming Christmas party. Robbie remembered that he boy hadn't been at the mayor's house the year before, had written it off as familial obligations.

Pixel had recognized a kindred spirit in Robbie, had noted the way Robbie seemed to need to get away from crowds too, needed to recharge. Well, the kid was a genius after all. It takes one to know one.

Robbie had been quietly remembering the dinnerparty, the way everyone and everything seemed to demand his attention, had drained his excitement of being invited fast. The loudness of it all.  
The blissful quiet and solitude in the days after.

He understood Pixel's question if he was going to go to the party this year. It would be nice to have someone there who understood. Who also needed to step back from the festivities for a while and sit quietly in a corner and be left alone. Robbie could picture it clearly: the boy with his handheld al quiet and nice, he himself simply looking at...

Sportacus.

Always looking at Sportacus.

Finding quiet in the Elf's actions, knowing him to keep him safe and sheltered for as long as Robbie would need and always welcoming him back. As if he'd been waiting, patient and yet impatient for his company.

"Maybe," he told the kid, "maybe I'll come". The noncommittal answer made him breath more easily. He had the choice to stay away but he wanted... wanted...

It seemed to be good enough for the kid who nodded with understanding beyond his years in his eyes.

\----------------

He came home to another present waiting for him. Waiting to be opened at Robbie's own pace.

\----------------  
**_  
On the ninth day of Christmas my true love sent to me:  
Nine Ladies Dancing _**

Robbie was dancing. -Robbie Rotten doesn't dance- he'd proclaimed proudly. But deep in his heart he knew he loved to dance. Sure and light on his feet as he never was, twirling and spinning, hands reaching out for an imaginary partner.

The music enveloping him, dreamlike, almost fae, Robbie waltzed around his lair. There had been a.. mixtape? No, a disc. A single shiny disc with a handwritten note. Songs with 'dance' in the title.  
Music he'd never heard before but so achingly familiar, strangely exhilarating.

And Robbie danced and danced, his mind spinning faster than his feet could follow.  
For the first time in his life he wished that he had someone to dance with. Someone to hold close. To share this joy, this enthusiasm with.  
He remembered the impromptu dance with Sportacus when he had been disguised as Sportafake. The warmth of another body close, a smaller frame, Sportacus the perfect height to tuck his face in the crook of Robbie's neck. They hadn't done that of course but what if they'd...  
He thought about his hand on the small of Sportacus' back. What if he'd drawn Sportacus closer, chest to chest, arm around Sportacus' waist.. Sportacus had been puzzled back then, but what if his eyes weren't wide with ... His hand had been warm and firm in Robbie's grasp, Sportacus' other hand on his shoulder and...

The music stopped. Robbie started it again. Started his daydream again.

\----------------  
**_  
On the tenth day of Christmas my true love sent to me:  
Ten Lords a Leaping _**

-Lets skip this one- it said on a cake. The package was tied up with a skipping rope.

Robbie had laughed.

He'd eaten the cake. Fluffy and moist and tender with black cherry buttercream and chocolate frosting and hint of mulled wine. He'd even eaten the cranberry-garnish.  
He was never going to be able to recreate this heavenly cake, not without the recipe. Perhaps if he was really really good for the next five years Santa could....?

He'd used the skippingropes for a machine he had been working at before he got...down. They were exactly what he needed for it to work.

He watched as the machine cleaned his lair until it was fresh and tidy, licking his plate clean in the meantime and wondering if a certain Elf who was unable to process raw sugar would be able to create wonders like this. Christmas was a time for miracles. But on this scale?

Stingy returned to let him hear the progress he'd made on his Christmas piece.

They'd sat in contemplative silence for a while afterwards and Robbie really appreciated that. It turned out not all children were raucous monsters intent on torturing him. On the contrary, this one brought comfort and delight. Something he was able to return in equal measure.

The questioning afterwards was a little bit more difficult but these last nine days had centered him, made him a bit less self conscious and so he really made an effort at Stingy's: "Robbie? Do you.. How do you... do you know if you like someone? Like like someone?"  
He'd told the boy about the staring, the way you're always thinking of them, the joy of simply being near them, The way you couldn't get enough of them like you couldn't get enough of chocolate. How they made you brave enough to try new things, things that were terrifying and exhilarating. The nausea and anxiety that accompanied the butterflies in your stomach when their eyes met yours. The way you changed from thinking them weird and quirky to them being unique and having judged them too harshly. Simply because it fell out of your comfort zone. Wanting to make them happy, their smile never to fade, to be the cause of a sparkle in their eye.

He thought Stingy got a little of what he was talking about when the kid started to mention red curly hair and quiet time.  
He did not have an answer when Stingy questioned him about how to ask someone out. The boy had given him a commiserating look and sympathized quietly, "It's hard, isn't it Robbie?"

The boy had left a gift behind, a wreath hanging on the hatch to his lair, one made of mistletoe. He had an eye for detail and colour-coordination for sure.

Robbie's heart felt light with... not Christmas cheer. No, something more lasting.

He was needed, valued. He was worth to be consulted, heard, listened to. He was a support, not a failure. He wasn't a bother, a nuisance. Worthy of being asked for an opinion.

Perhaps even worthy of love.

\----------------  
**_  
On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love sent to me:  
Eleven Pipers Piping _**

Earmuffs, really good ones. Purple too.  
The blessed peace and quiet helped him think.

He needed gifts. Even if he did not manage to go to the Christmas party in the end he could still drop of his gifts. There, no pressure.

He did not even try to fool himself that he was annoyed by the one particular person who seemed to come quite naturally to the forefront of his mind, who was never far away. His company, whether it be in Robbie's head or out there, in the loud loud world, was so very welcome. So dear.  
Crinkles around his blue blue eyes and always moving. Except when...

Robbie knew Sportacus actually liked to read, had seen him with his nose in a book quite often. Granted, usually while being in a downright weird position, like hanging upside down, or in a kind of split that really couldn't be comfortable or with one leg in his neck which was frustratingly ...frustrating when unexpectedly being confronted with such tantalizing flexibility... But still, reading.

Sportacus came from up North, where it was tradition to exchange books on the night before Christmas.  
He thought about how the Elf sometimes struggled with the traditions of this country. Finally Robbie settled on a lovely cloth bound book in silver and midnight blue with stories about folklore and customs around Christmas. Leafing through it his eye fell on an illustration of mistletoe. He put the page marker there and closed the book, wrapped it up neatly.

He bought everyone else books too, reading was nice and quiet.

\----------------  
**_  
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love sent to me:  
Twelve Drummers Drumming _**

Robbie recognized the drum as Ziggy's. It was used as a vase now for flowers. Mistletoe, amaryllis, ivy, red roses and tucked away, almost unnoticeable a single orchid.

It was supposedly the last gift, the chain of care ending on the day before Christmas.

Flowers that symbolized love.

Or perhaps it was simply a bouquet in Christmas colours.

There was no note, nothing to indicate who had been giving him these things.

"on the first day of Christmas my true love.."

Robbie didn't know if he wanted to find out who had been sending him these thoughtful gifts of relief and playfulness. He knew who he wanted to have been the person behind it. Who he wanted to care for him.

He snorted to himself, Christmas Elves, indeed.

\----------------

He'd gone to the Christmas party and had been greeted as a welcome friend.

It was loud and joyful and overwhelming and a cheerful chaos. It had almost been too much after a while, when he felt a small hand on his arm. Pixel's eyes so trusting as he wordlessly sought Robbie's support. Like the idea that Robbie could turn his back on him and walk away had never occurred to him. They quietly sat on the couch, no one demanding their attention or attempting to draw them back. Robbie found himself answering Pixel's grateful smile with one of his own.  
He mused in the companionable silence that even for introverts there could be strength in numbers.

Pixel got out a handheld, his tense posture gradually relaxing with the comforting distraction of one of his beloved games. Robbie watched him play for a while and then looked up, eyes searching for...

Sportacus.

Sportacus, who was already watching him. The Elf was standing near the hustle and bustle of the festivities and games but wasn't joining in. Wasn't paying attention. He was looking straight at Robbie and...

Robbie couldn't quite pinpoint the Elf's expression, didn't know what his own face was doing.

His heart on the other hand...

His heart was racing.

He couldn't look away even though anxiety and worry started to rear their ugly, painfully familiar heads. He didn't know what to do. He wanted.... wanted. He knew what he wanted. He wanted to make Sportacus smile. Wanted to go over to him and say... He didn't know what to say. How to say it.

He wanted to go over to Sportacus, wanted to take his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. Wanted to see him smile as their fingers tangled together, their shoulders touched.

He was frozen in place, he wasn't brave or eloquent enough to go to Sportacus and put his feelings into words, into an actual question.

He'd been staring too long, Sportacus was going to think.. think that he...

He was saved from making an even bigger fool of himself by Pixel nudging him lightly and a timid voice calling his name.

He blinked, looked away from those bewitching blue eyes, that charming half-smile, to whoever was demanding his attention.

Stingy.

The kid looked pale, anxious, "Robbie?" He was holding his trumpet, the knuckles of his hands white with the death grip he had on the instrument.

Right. Christmas party.

He reached out, hand hovering for for a moment then he laid it on the boy's shoulder. "You're going to do perfectly," Robbie told him, his belief in his own words strong, shining through the gruffness of his tone.

Stingy smiled weakly and Robbie thought about the nerve-wracking experience of having all eyes on him, about his brain going hundred miles an hour with all the possible ways things could go wrong.

"Let's go outside, you'll be perfect, I know that for certain. But if for some impossible reason you'll be off-key or mess up I'll throw a snowball right through the mayor's window. That will make everyone forget about it, right?"

"Robbie! You can't... Thank you!" The warmth of Stingy's gratitude and relief, and Pixel's laughter next to him, were a most precious gift.

Confidence restored somewhat the kid went over to the mayor who was pleasantly surprised by the unexpected contribution and who directed everyone outside in his good-natured bumbling way.

As the group shushed amongst themselves for appropriate silence Robbie light-heartedly waved with his snowball at Stingy and was gratified to see the kid smile and straighten his shoulders.

Robbie closed his eyes, let the music wash over him.

Peace on earth.

In this moment.

In him.

\----------------

Sportacus watched Robbie as the snow began to fall and the world turned silver, the sound of the trumpet nigh magical in the quiet night. The music almost melancholic, wistful. And Robbie. Robbie who was so beautiful in his unguarded stillness, his face full of wonder. Quiet and peaceful. At ease.

Sportacus found himself...light. Full of joy after seeing Robbie interact with the kids so seriously and casual. Giving comfort and advice to these introverted and reserved children. Robbie could be so very good.

In the stillness of the night there was a weight of expectation in the air, of wishes waiting to be fulfilled. Whispers of hope and sweet possibilities . Like anything could happen.

\----------------

Robbie had decided to wait up, to try to catch whoever had been sneaking by to give him gifts. Better to break his own heart than to harbor futile hopes and dreams.

It turned dark, it could not have been Sportacus, it was after 8.08 PM.

He felt oddly disappointed. He wondered about the lack of footsteps as he sat on top of the steps to the hatch of his lair in a rather precarious position. He plucked a twig of mistletoe from the wreath and turned it over and over in his hands. He tilted his head and stared up at the stars and silver moon. He felt....

A quiet 'Hello Robbie' next to him startled him, made him overbalance, he flailed, desperately trying to get a hold of something, anything, that would prevent him from falling down his own hatch.

A strong steadying hand on his waist, another on his arm. Sportacus.

One of Robbie's arms was still midflail, mistletoe still in his hand held high above their heads.

Sportacus looked up at him. Robbie saw his eyes flicker to the mistletoe and watched a blush tint Sportacus fair cheeks pink.

With an awkward cough Sportacus looked away and got Robbie on the ground, safely on his feet.

Robbie saw the ladder hanging from Sportacus' airship, noted the lack of footprints around them save his own. That's how Sportacus did it.

"You..." He didn't know where he was going with that sentence, "You." Robbie found himself smiling.

Still blushing Sportacus smiled up at him, "I've brought you a gift."

Traditions up in the North told of a monstrous cat, the Jólakötturinn, who would devour everyone who did not wear a new piece of clothing on Christmas. Sportacus had knitted him a scarf of the softest of wool, white as snow with a pattern of hearts at both ends.

Strong hands looped the scarf around Robbie's neck, held on to it firmly but gentle.

Sportacus stood very close, eyes wide, biting his lip for a moment.

Robbie wasn't sure if he leaned in or Sportacus got onto his tiptoes. He just focused on the soft feeling of Sportacus' lips, hesitant against his own. On Sportacus' hands in his hair, on his cheek, pulling him gently closer. His own hands settling on Sportacus' waist, drawing him in so they were pressed together from chest to hip, then pulling of the Elf's hat and fingers tangling in blissfully soft curls.

Robbie spared a thought that happiness didn't taste like sugared violets, no, happiness tasted like the honeysweetness of Sportacus' warm eager mouth. As Sportacus sighed into the kiss, Robbie tilted his head a little to deepen the kiss , to chase that sweetness.

Around them snow started to fall. But they were warm as they kissed next to the mistletoe.

Tomorrow would be the first day of Christmas.

\----------------

**Author's Note:**

> Sportacus noted the year before how excited Robbie had been to get a present, a real Christmas present. It wasn't tailored to his taste so he had been disappointed. So this year Sportacus really makes an effort. He isn't sure about the human twelve days of Christmas. In Iceland there are thirteen days before Christmas, he figures it is the same. (it isn't)
> 
> No beta-ed, non-english writer. Please let me know if I've made glaring grammatical errors


End file.
